He was looking at me. No, not merely looking. He was outright staring. Unfortunately it was a distracted, brooding stare, not the "come hither" look my girlfriends were all proclaiming it was. He was slouched at a table, legs crossed at the ankles, suit coat carelessly flung across the back of his chair. He held a cigarette loosely in one hand, occasionally flicking it into an ashtray. A tumbler with scotch and coke stood untouched before him.
I wished my giggling friends would all shut up and quit nudging me as we sat at a small table in our favorite club. Much as I'd like to flatter myself with the thought that a handsome brown-eyed man was unable to take his eyes off me, his expression didn't strike me as interested. In fact, it was starting to get downright rude, like he was really gazing right through me as if I were a glass on the table or a picture on the wall.
Of course I knew who he was. You'd have to live underground and only arise at night to avoid hearing their music on the radio or see their faces on every magazine. Even then, chances were you'd know who the Beatles were. And this particular Beatle was Paul. It was sort of strange to watch him without the glowing smile, the charm machine turned off. George Harrison returned to the table to fetch his own drink. He said something to Paul who looked away from me long enough to mutter a short reply with a shake of his head. George shrugged and touched his shoulder before disappearing back into the crowd. John Lennon was occupied at another table with numerous girls while Ringo was making things happen on the dance floor.
"C'mon Glo," my friend Elaine bumped me again with her rather bony elbow. "Go get 'em, girl! What are you waiting for?"
"Please," I sighed. "Can't you see he's not having a good night? Leave the guy alone." Although I have to confess I couldn't stop taking sidelong glances at him all the same. He was terrifically good-looking all right. That dark shiny hair and those big sad eyes. Besides all the famous rock star stuff, what girl wouldn't notice him?
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I was feeling like shit. It was so close to the holidays and we were stuck in another city that I had to ask Neil to tell me the name of. Truth be told, I was longing for Liverpool, completely and surprisingly homesick. Missing family and friends and familiar sights, sick and tired of the hectic schedule we'd been maintaining for the past few months. The guys knew I was in a mood and let me be. I was sitting at a table in the club everyone else had demanded we go to when a bird approached. It took me a second to realise someone was standing over me waiting for me to look up, which I did finally.
Figuring she was attempting to get me to pull her, I readied myself for a quick dismissal. I really wasn't looking for romance tonight. Too busy drowning in my own misery, I confess.
"Why have you been staring at me all night?" she demanded.
Quite intelligently, I replied, "Beg pardon?" It wasn't quite the flirty come-on I'd been bracing for.
"You've been looking at me the whole night! What, do I have something stuck in my teeth?" She stood there with her arms crossed over her chest. A slender auburn-haired girl with beautifully big brown eyes and quite lovely white teeth.
I couldn't help it. She took me so offguard that I let out a laugh. "No, not at all, Miss...?"
"Renfield, Gloria Renfield."
"Gloria. I apologise if I've been staring at you all night. I really wasn't aware of it."
"Oh that's quite a compliment," she answered testily.
"You are a fiesty one, aren't you?" It was rather refreshing to talk to a girl whose only intention was not to talk her way into my bed. "Care to sit down?"
I saw her glance briefly over to a table full of other girls, all watching us intently as she nodded and sat down beside me. Their eyes widened and they began a flurry of whispering.
Gloria saw me watching them. "Don't mind them. They're being ridiculous. I could tell you weren't staring at me because I was so irresistable."
I winced. Her barbs were coming fast and furious and I wasn't in the best of shape to deflect them. She noticed my pained look, however, and immediately softened.
"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. You really just look like you aren't having a very good night."
"You could say that." I replied neutrally while trying to swallow the lump that had suddenly grown in my throat. Happens every damn time I let my guard down; every damn time someone shows some compassion I start to lose my hold on that safe, ironclad positive outlook I'm known for. Flustered, I took a drag on my ciggie and looked past her to where John was holding court.
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He was even more gorgeous close-up, and as I approached the table, I almost lost my nerve, so deep in his thoughts that he didn't even notice me at first. Why had I taken up my girlfriends' silly challenge to talk to him? As usual, when I'm nervous, my tongue got the better of me and I let fly a few sharp comments. Dismayed to see his face fall after I got that first heart-stopping smile out of him, I apologized. It surprised me to realize I really just wanted to cheer up this downhearted superstar. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy.
"Would you like to get out of here?" I asked, not even thinking about the ramifications.
Paul looked startled. "You mean...?"
"No," I replied firmly. "I'm not that kind of a girl. I meant go for a walk, get some air."
He actually relaxed slightly and I paused, wondering whether to feel insulted by that or not.
"Sure, let me tell my mates a sec." He put out the stub of his cigarette, heaved himself to his feet and walked over to John Lennon's table where he leaned over so John could hear him over the noise. I couldn't help but notice his finely shaped posterior as he bent over in those tailored trousers. Geez, what a letch, Gloria, I scolded myself. Shooting another glance at my friends, I saw they were all gloating and giving me odd little smiles which were meant to be encouraging.
John glanced my direction and I was immediately intimidated by the man. I hoped Paul wouldn't gesture me over to meet him. But instead, John merely nodded and gave me a small wave before turning back to his conversation. Paul grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and turned to me.
"Right, let's go."
I felt his arm curve automatically around the back of my waist to guide me ahead. His touch sent a shiver running up the length of my spine, which wasn't at all unpleasant, but unnerving all the same to think he could have such an immediate physical effect on me. He appeared not to notice a thing--probably gets that all the time from scores of women.
It was cold outside, with a slight breeze, and I pulled my wool coat more closely around me as Paul buttoned up his tweed suit jacket. "Are you going to be warm enough?" I asked, my breath pluming out as I spoke.
He shrugged. "Doesn't matter," he said, looking briefly up at the cloudy night sky. "Where to?"
I led him along the busy city street until I saw the park on the other side. We crossed and walked slowly into the relative shelter of the trees. Paul found a park bench and hopped up onto the back of it, feet planted on the seat while I sat down on the seat beside him. He reached into an inner pocket and brought out a pack of British cigarettes. Shaking one out, he held it out to me with a questioning look.
"Sure, thanks." I took one, curious to see what English cigarettes were like.
"I never smoke American cigarettes," he said as he snapped his lighter and held it out to me. "No insult intended, but I've heard those things are addictive."
I took a drag and smiled. "And British ones aren't?" It had a rather mild, sweet taste to it.
Paul shrugged again. "Dunno. Never tried to stop." My laugh at that comment rewarded me with another of his heart-melting grins. Good Lord, but he had charisma. I'd been around a few men in my time, but this one kept throwing me off-balance without any effort.
Apparently being outside in the dark was not exactly the remedy for his ills as he resumed staring glumly into space.
"I'm sorry," I said finally, although I could've sat there and stared at him for a very long time. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. You don't seem any happier away from the club."
He roused himself with an effort. "God, I'm sorry. I must be horrible company for you."
Hardly that, I thought to myself. "It's ok. You don't always have to be 'on' you know."
Paul gave me a curious look when I said that. "Is that how I strike you?" he asked. "Fake, putting on a show?"
Oops, my mouth had gotten me in trouble again. "No, not a show," I said, "Just trying to act like people expect you to, never relaxing."
He sighed deeply, the white stream from his sigh floating up into the dark sky. "I have a confession," he said quietly enough so that I had to lean toward him to hear the rest of it. "I was staring at you. But not for the reasons you think." He stopped as if unwilling to go any farther or reveal anything else.
To my alarm, he suddenly turned away so I couldn't see his face. But I could hear emotion in his voice as he struggled to continue. "You reminded me of one of my cousins, that's all, back home in Liverpool."
"Back home." he whispered and fell silent.
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Christ, here I was breaking down in front of a complete stranger! I couldn't believe it as my voice cracked on my last words and tears started to blur my sight. How fucking embarrassing! But I couldn't stop myself any more than I could've spread my arms and flown home that night. I was so tired, so lonely. It was all too much at the moment.
I was still reeling from the phone call I'd gotten from my Da earlier. He was going to remarry a younger woman with a small daughter. I sputtered out the expected congratulations, but inside I was fighting anger and hurt--how could he do that to Mum, to me and Mike. I knew it wasn't fair of me, but I couldn't help the feelings. Worst of all was the fact that I hadn't been home long enough to have met this woman, to have even known Da was dating again with all this damn touring.
The girl, Gloria, was staring at me--I could feel her eyes. Fuck all this pressure--I had to get the hell out of here.
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Just as unexpectedly, Paul sprang up and started walking so fast I had to sprint to catch up to him. "Wait!" I said and grabbed his arm. "What are you running from?"
He swung to face me. The moon chose that moment to come from behind the clouds and light full onto this man's face, into his eyes, which were a beautiful mix of brown and green, but filled with such pain and the suspicious shine of unspilled tears. All I could do, without even thinking twice, was fold him into my arms and start crooning, "It's ok. It'll be all right."
And then he was weeping. So hard I was afraid his legs wouldn't hold him up. Choking, male sobs--the kind that they try to contain until it hurts too much. His arms pressed around me and I felt hot tears on my neck as he buried his face in my hair. His grief spilled out and shook us both as I stared up at the moon and a cold wind buffeted us. Poor man, was all I could think, such pain he's been hiding behind that lovely facade. Soon enough I had tears running down my own face as I continued to whisper sweet nothings into his ear and stroke his back to calm him.
He tried to pull away a few times, mumbling "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." But I could still feel the tension in his body and refused to release him until he was pretty much limp and drained. Then I let him go, stepping back and wiping my nose in a very unladylike manner with my sleeve.
He shuddered, whether from the cold or just a physical reaction, and reached up to run a hand through his hair, then rub at the tears on his face. "Shit," he finally said in an unsteady voice. "That's never happened before."
"Well, maybe it should have," I suggested with a smile.
To my relief, he returned the smile. "Yeah, maybe it should have."
"Thank you," he added awkwardly. Before I knew what was happening, he leaned toward me and kissed me. A gentle, warm kiss from strong lips seasoned with teardrops. A kiss I'll never forget in my lifetime and one to make all others fade into mediocracy. It left me breathless and I had to press against him for support. Ok, well, maybe I didn't have to, but wrapped in those strong arms, enveloped in the scent of him, was heaven.
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Who was this girl in my arms? How'd she get there? The moment she'd touched me and looked into my face, the moment the moonlight revealed the deeply honest care and concern in her brown eyes, we connected. Just like that. And I knew nothing about her but her name. But I intended to fix that, make no mistake about it.
"You're shivering," she said. "Let's go back to the club."
I was freezing my arse off, but the idea of going back to the noisy, crowded club wasn't very appealing either. "Let's get some tea," I said.
Gloria made a face. "I'm afraid you won't find your English tea around this town. Will coffee do?"
I took her in my arms and kissed those soft sweet lips again as she melted against me. "It doesn't matter," I murmured, "It doesn't matter to me in the least."
She smiled again, those white teeth glowing. "I'm glad you were staring at me tonight, Paul McCartney. Very glad you looked my way."
